The Year in Verse
A Politickles Retrospective
FULL OF BILL
We’d expected to be fully free
Of his follies by 2003,
But, lacking the grace
To go hide his face,
Clinton keeps crying out, “Look at me!”
So the homicidal barbarian
Is a virtuous vegetarian!
Then keep Mr. Malvo lean
With sawdust and Valvoline
And indulge the culinary contrarian.
He’s known plenty of struggle and strife,
But George Bailey is blessed with a wife
And family and friends
On whom he depends:
What he has is a wonderful life.
Who but a hardhearted heathen
For some nefarious reason
Would ignore the morn
When our Savior was born
And call Christmas the “holiday season”?
She stole the first election
With her Crescent City connection:
She put in the fix
But this race has a different complexion.
Hold your horses; we’re not in a race.
Get that drumstick away from your face.
Now put your fork down
And stop making that frown.
You can eat when we finish the grace.
A stripper deemed too independent
Was called into court as defendant;
She said of her charms:
“I’ve the right ‘to bare arms’;
It’s enshrined in the Second Amendment.”
There once was a man named Ray
Who worked at the Bon Marché
And got lots of strange stares
When he said unawares:
“I’m in Ladies’ Lingerie.”
Though their Party’s completely bereft
Of ideas that are daring and deft,
They have more than enough
Of that socialist stuff,
So the Democrats blindly move left.
On occasion he loses his way-O;
Belafonte then causes dismay-O.
But he never goes wrong
With “Banana Boat Song.”
Why not stick to the singing of “Day-O”?
Of the varied lay orders he scoured,
Opus Dei above others towered,
But the postulant was dopey
And espoused Deus Opie,
Unaware that they worshipped Ron Howard.
To ensure that the balloting may
Proceed in an orderly way:
On Tuesday, please note,
All Republicans vote —
And all Democrats on the next day.
In their triumph or in their defeat,
There is credit for those who compete,
But none for the cold
And timid soul
Ensconced in the spectator’s seat.
For too long girls were taught to behave
Like a tramp or a sexual slave,
But now they have Erika,
The new Miss America,
To remind them that sex is to save.
With a limerick to write, the worker sits;
After hours have passed, the shirker quits:
The problem’s that “Herb”
Will not serve as a verb,
And there’s nothing that rhymes with “Berkowitz.”
“The polls that are now coming in
Show we haven’t a chance to win,
So we’ll pull our man out,
Then rummage about
And start all over again.”
Before I start to hasslin’
With daily chores and rasslin’
To make ends meet,
I must complete
My coffee and McCaslin.
Hollywood people are
The nuttiest people by far,
But Barbra Streisand
Takes the prize and
Proves herself a star.
In days of circumspection,
We made no “love connection”:
The girls said no
And off we’d go,
Relieved at our rejection.
As a lad I was long and lean
And drank gallons of Ovaltine,
But I had to rethink
That rich chocolate drink
When I wound up an oval teen.
DDT might have wiped out malaria
In every subtropical area,
But Miss Carson’s polemical
Attack on the chemical
Has inspired Silent Spring-fed hysteria.
By now it’s well-known and old news
That in slavery their forebears paid “dues,”
And yet no one has crowed:
Reparations are owed
By Egyptians today to the Jews.
“Your report card’s created a fuss
With your father and me: Both of us
Are a little bit leery
Of this course called ‘Queer Theory’
— And the fact that you got an A-plus.”
You may laugh at my pacifist claim;
I’m a peace-loving lad just the same:
In a fight against faction,
I love a piece of the action —
And to practice my pass-a-fist aim.
Mankind from the first had a host of
Talents and trials to make most of,
But atheists despair
‘Cause they don’t have a prayer —
And nihilists have nothing to boast of!
Congressman Traficant looks
Like a footnote in history books;
So, they threw the bum out,
But does anyone doubt
That the Congress is still full of crooks?
Let iambs and anapests meet,
Dactyls and trochees compete,
But give yourself time
To get to each rhyme
Or you’re bound to trip over your feet.
The fertility clinic messed up
And assigned to my wife the wrong “cup”:
Thanks to their help,
She delivered a whelp
And I’m now the proud pop of a pup!
How the judges would snicker and snort
And delight in making sport
Of American troops,
Individuals, and groups
In an international court!
With Bates, Berlin, and Key,
I salute this “land of the free,”
This “land that I love . . .
With the light from above,”
Stretched “from sea to shining sea.”
“You illegally crossed our border?
You’re a drugs and weapons importer?
You’re a sociopath
Spewing venomous wrath?
Yes, everything seems in order.”
“I’m hanging my hopes on my wife,
Who’s about to go under the knife:
My plan is that maybe
With a harvested baby
I’ll be able to lengthen my life!”
The NEA nabobs are vexed,
The public school Pooh-Bahs perplexed:
Geography, spelling —
There’s really no telling
What bee those homeschoolers win next!
We were soldiers once, and young.
We were soldiers once, and young.
Though our courage goes unsung,
Every man of us was gung-ho!
We were soldiers once, and young.
No religious beliefs were expressed
In his valedictorian address,
But he feigned an “achoo!”
And his classmates on cue
In unison shouted “God bless!”
When the stewardess gave it a tug,
I complained that my seatbelt was “snug.”
She said I’d regret
That insidious threat:
“Backwards, ‘snug’ spells ‘guns,’ you lug!”
“What’s this fly doing in my soup?”
I demand with my spoon in mid-scoop.
The response I receive:
“Backstroke, I believe.”
To what depths will the wry waiter stoop!
They’ve found lynx hair over there,
And more lynx hair over here.
The endangered lynx
Is okay, methinks,
When there’s lynx hair everywhere!
Willie Sutton robbed banks because
That’s where the money was,
But if he had heard
About Robert C. Byrd
He’d have done what the Senator does.
“We deplore confrontation, delay,
And obstructions thrown in the way:
These things that we do
We project onto you
And denounce as unsportsmanlike play.”
“Comrades, have no fears;
It’s only a matter of years:
We’ll sneak some fairies
Through the seminaries;
Soon the Church will be full of queers!”
Nietzsche told us that God was dead,
That the State was our Father instead,
But where’s Nietzsche now?
Where are Stalin and Mao,
Hitler, and the legions they led?
The other children teased her
For being a faithful feaster:
When the pagan takes
His seasonal breaks,
She celebrates Christmas and Easter.
“Each morning when I get dressed,
I put on my bulletproof vest,
Then I play in the yard
With my bodyguard,
In case Mother should get depressed.”
Common sense until it fails:
Screeners x-ray granny
And pat down the nanny,
But ignore young Arab males.
“Since you’ve asked for the body to burn,
We sincerely do hope you won’t learn
That rather than ash
We’ll convert it to cash —
That’s our definition of urn!”
“When one of your loved ones deceases,
We don’t bother with legal releases:
We sell what we can
From the organs on hand,
So your loved one can rest in pieces.”
The September 11th attack
Put America back on track,
But the nags at NOW
Are having a cow
‘Cause the Macho Man is back!
“You’ll need power without peer
And objectives that are clear,
Plus clever tactics
— And prophylactics!”
Said Powell with a leer.
“Pipe down, Paul, and lay off o’ dat booze,
‘Cause ya don’t know nuthin’ ’bout blues,
About bare dirt floors
And plumbin’ outdoors
And twelve chirren wit’out no shoes.”
“Though his name sounds familiar to me,
I’m still wondering who he could be:
In the index I look
Of my history book,
But George Washington’s name I don’t see.”
The Church may soon be on the skids
If parishioners blow their lids
And refuse to kick in
Alms to pay for the sin
Of the priests caught molesting their kids.
Pack your luggage and grab your coat
And prepare your concessional quote,
‘Cause your seat’s not secure
And we all know for sure
That you won’t get Chandra’s vote.
The President seldom gets ill.
At least, he hasn’t yet. Still,
To maintain that vim,
My advice to him
Is to pass when proffered a pretzel.
“Once we had to march and shout
‘Cause we had so little clout:
Public schools back then
Wouldn’t let us in
— And now won’t let us out!”
“Whistling at my shapely legs
Violates my rules and regs,
But I’ll drop pretense
And take no offense
If you want to buy my eggs.”
Roy was hankering to be quite the quaff-swigger:
“So, I’ll leave you right here by the trough, Trigger,
And spend all afternoon
In the Staghorn Saloon
With Tackett, Wayne Johns, and Lyn Nofziger.”